I Heart Patrick
by SaturnineSunshine
Summary: That's what you said to me at your party. Right before you hurled." Basically its just what happened at the night that Kat got drunk and what we didn't see. Maybe OOC, but amazing Katrick.
1. The Party

**A/N**: So this is my first 10TIHAY fic. During the season finale I just got inspired to write this Katrick fic. I really hope this isn't too OOC, I tried my best. So I'm assuming a bunch of people will be doing this idea, but I just really wanted to write this because Patrick is epic.

**Summary**: Other than the fact that voice did strange and unusual things to her insides, she really didn't remember the rest of that conversation. She didn't remember asking him to come back to her and she definitely didn't remember his coy and smug response.

**Disclaimer**: Nothing belongs to me. All characters and SL belong to 10 TIHAY as well as the movie, which is awesome by the way. The quote at the beginning is what inspired me to write this and isn't mine either. I don't have a beta by the way, so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

_"Hold my hair."_

_Excuse Me?_

_That's what you said to me at your party. Right before you hurled._

_-- Patrick and Kat_

Katerina Stratford wasn't the type to get drunk. Then again, when she came to Padua High, she didn't exactly she'd have a gravitational pull towards the mysterious trouble making hunk of a man. Who drove a motorcycle. And wore leather jackets. Not that she was into those sorts of things. Because she wasn't. And she definitely wasn't attracted to the way his deep voice rumbled at her.

However, if she really believed all of these things, she wouldn't have just drank her weight in alcohol and some spiked watermelon. And it was all his vault. She wanted to castrate him. But mostly, she just wanted him here.

She hated how he thought of her. He seemed the only person who wasn't afraid of her and actually accepted her for her radical ideas the same way she sort of didn't mind his rebel exterior. Sort of.

Her first reaction to seeing his hulking and beautiful form in her doorway was to slam the door in his face. Maybe that was a lie. Her first instinct was to slap him. Maybe kiss him. Then slam the door. He deserved it. But somehow again, he wormed his way casually and skillfully into her life when she least expected or even wanted him.

And there he was. Towering over her in her room where he definitely shouldn't be. Her father would freak if he knew that some guy was alone with her in her room while a party raged below them where they probably wouldn't be heard doing the thing her father feared. And the thing that she maybe wanted.

Getting arrested wasn't that attractive of an excuse. But it was a damn good one. Of course, she had to put that wall up like she always did. She hated how she let someone so dangerous get so close. She let him touch her and break down defenses that no one had succeeded even coming close to. Not that they wanted to. But he, for some inexplicable reason did. And it wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair because she was falling so hard and so fast for him without a net. He wasn't safe. She couldn't trust him. But she wanted him. And in the end, it turned out that he was the one storming out of her room and a rage while she was the one broken by him. Again. In her opinion, he really didn't have a right to be angry with her. _He_ left _her_. But in his opinion, talking to her was like talking to a wall.

It could have been Bianca that drove her over the edge. But in her drunken stupor, if she was being totally and completely honest with herself (which didn't happen often) it was him. It was always, always him. He drove her to do the things that she thought she was never capable of. He drove her to get fake ID's and actually wearing a dress. And now, he was driving her to drink.

In retrospect, this probably wasn't the sign of a healthy relationship (not that she wanted one altogether, with him no less) or that right now her fingers were fumbling over the keypad for the number she didn't even remember getting but it was in her contacts anyway.

His dark voice rumbled over the other end. "_Hello_?"

Other than the fact that voice did strange and unusual things to her insides, she really didn't remember the rest of that conversation. She didn't remember asking him to come back to her and she definitely didn't remember his coy and smug response.

She did remember, however, stumbling towards the bathroom on the top floor, and collapsing on the tiles, knowing that this would be the last time that she ever did something like this ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever again.

But if it always came attributed with that sweet smell of leather and the heady musk leaning over her as she lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, maybe it was just worth it.

Maybe.

His combat boots sounded against the floor as she lay on her stomach, not really aware of anything. His tremendous shadow fell over her. The lights in the bathroom were blinding, but for some reason, he was the one to give her comfort from it.

She groaned.

"Nice choice of wardrobe," he hinted at the dress shirt that barely covered her. She wasn't even sober enough to have the decency to cover herself. He didn't seem to mind.

"Patrick?"

It really couldn't have been anyone else, but there was a slight chance that she was delusional. He sighed heavily and kneeled beside her.

"You drunk dialed me," he decided to say.

"No," she contradicted immediately. She wasn't sure if that was a ghost of a smile.

"Its still like talking to a wall."

And she wasn't sure if he was saying it with spite or not.

"Why are you here?"

"You drunk dialed me," he repeated. Maybe that wasn't so bad. Maybe she didn't have to disagree with him this time. She didn't.

"Why are you here?" she asked again. He paused.

"Because I want to be."

"Why?"

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked instead. Always avoiding the serious conversations. Not that she would remember in the morning anyway. Not that she would know that.

"I'm sprawled on my own bathroom floor," she slurred.

Enough said.

"Okay," he said, biting back a smirk at her wryness, even in her current state of being. He sighed again. He took her forearms in his hands.

"What are you doing?" Kat groaned. He didn't answer but just pulled her into a sitting position. She was having a difficult time even holding her own weight. She started to sway backwards. He caught her deftly and without even thinking, just pulled her into his chest. She clutched the front of his jacket like she was holding onto a lifeline. He decided that he didn't mind so much.

Maybe he wasn't Prince Charming, but he wasn't exactly the dragon either. At least, not the sort of dragon that gave damsels distress. She wasn't much for distressing either. Maybe they were just a new kind of fairytale. One that he hadn't thought of before. Or one that hadn't even been written yet.

Kat inhaled deeply. Her head stopped spinning immediately. She didn't like to think that Patrick Verona kept her grounded or safe, but he was probably the only one who could do either.

Patrick wasn't that oblivious either. He didn't like the weird clenching in his chest or the dropping of his stomach at her closeness or the very real realization that she was actually smelling him. And not running the other way. She was the only one who did either. Ever.

"Patrick," she said softly. She lifted her head to meet his beautifully onyx eyes.

"What?" he asked, just as quietly.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Reflexively, he immediately let her go. She fell, luckily supporting herself on the porcelain basin. If he were anyone else, maybe he would have apologized for almost smashing her face in. Instead, he just put his large hand gently to her back, soothing her in a way that he didn't even know that he possessed. He wasn't one for comforting, but she seemed to like the fact that he was there. For her.

"Patrick," she said again. Maybe he liked the way she said his name, as though it were a secret. As though no one was really supposed to know that he was there.

He didn't answer, just kept holding her in that intimate way that he thought were reserved for those regular people who had steady girlfriends and went to movies and held hands. Or maybe she was the only one he could ever consider himself doing those things with.

"Hold my hair."

He knew she was going to be sick. And it seemed like such a simple get detrimental request. Girls didn't ask Patrick Verona to hold their hair back. They asked him to take them on the back of his bike of have sex with them in the back of cars. They didn't ask him to take care of him. But Kat Stratford really was above the learning curve. And as he grasped her dark, silky locks that streamed down her back, he realized that maybe he was okay with it. He could do this. Maybe. But he could maybe do this only with her.

Her body convulsed as she heaved all the contents of the alcohol and watermelon (strange) that she had consumed that night. He just held her steady so she wouldn't fall. Like he had been doing all along.

When she was done, she shakily shifted from her position, grabbing a towel to clean herself off. Even while inebriated, she was very hygienic, and that was something you just had to admire.

"Patrick," she said hoarsely again.

It was his Achilles Heel. She could say his name and he would come. Or, he would at least hold her hair back while she vomited.

"Are you going to hurl again?" he asked dryly.

"No," she said weakly, going to lay down on the ground. He was about to stop her (she shouldn't be laying on the ground in this state. He didn't like it.) Then she suddenly just curled in his lap. He removed his hands suddenly as though he had been burned.

She shouldn't trust him. It wasn't right. He could really hurt her and he wouldn't be able to stop it. He didn't know how she couldn't understand how bad he was for her. As he watched her innocently hold onto him, he knew that he didn't care. He put his fingers to her silky strands. Now he knew what comforting someone was like. It wasn't that bad. Even if he sort of was stroking her hair which was way weird.

"Thank you," she whispered into his black jeans.

He didn't answer. He wouldn't know what to say. Honestly, he wasn't sure what parts of this night she would remember and what she wouldn't. Part of him wanted her to remember this. Remember him. Know that it was him that took care of her. Then again... it would just be so much fun if she didn't.

Patrick knew when it was time to leave. He couldn't just stay here. He ran his hands through his mess of hair. He tried to pull her up but she shrugged him away.

"No," she said petulantly. He rolled his eyes. He didn't know what he saw in her. She was so _annoying_. "I want to stay here."

"On the bathroom floor?" he asked incredulously. She rolled away from him and he knew that he couldn't leave without his one moment of sleaze. It was terrible mostly because she was drunk, but he was really good at rationalizing.

The shirt had rode up her perfect thigh. He couldn't just leave her like that, now, could he?

"Fine," he relented. But he knelt down again and pulled the shirt to cover her, letting his hand graze her thigh as he went. It was gross, but then again, so was he.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said. "Goodnight, Kat."

She leaned her head against the cold tile of the floor, soothing the pounding headache she was about to get.

He took one last leisurely look at her then walked out into the hallway. He could easily just slip into the throng of drunken partiers and make his escape. Apparently he wasn't as observant as he gave himself credit for.

He walked down the stairs and as soon as he reached the ground floor, he was attacked by what appeared to be water. As though a reflex, he shoved at whatever hit him and his hands made contact with his assailant.

"What the hell?" he yelled, rubbing the water from his eyes.

"Who are you?" his attacker demanded. Patrick raised his dark eyes to meet a blond haired pretty boy which he could most likely kick the crap out of.

"Who am _I_?" Patrick asked dangerously, knowing his reputation alone could make the guy most likely run for his life.

"Joey, its okay," Kat's equally blond sister said, lowering the water bottle that was still aimed at Patrick.

"Patrick," Bianca said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't mind Little Stratford. After all, if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't have had another chance with Kat after the roof debacle during the brush fire.

"Did you climb through Kat's window?" Bianca accused.

"There was a crowd at the door," Patrick replied, realizing now that was probably Bianca trying to get everyone out of her rager. That was the price you paid for throwing a house party. He had been to enough of them to know.

"Oh," Bianca replied, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. The pretty boy was still glaring at him accusingly. Whatever.

"Where's Kat?" she asked.

"Probably still hurling her guts out," Patrick said coolly. Like hell he would let anyone know that he sometimes cared. No.

"And you left her there?" Bianca asked uneasily. Patrick just shrugged, sauntering towards the front door which was so callously slammed in his face hours before. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. After all, he still had a reputation to uphold and if Kat's little cheerleading wannabe sister knew something, the whole school would. And he couldn't have that.

He closed the door behind him and mounted his bike. He didn't wear a helmet this time. Kat's desperate and needy, drunk voice on the other end of the line was enough to get him over quickly enough.

He kicked the bike to life and not for the first time, wondered what it would be like to have persistent and picketing hands around his waist as he rode off. That would only happen after he told her what he knew of course. That would happen after he said that she wanted him too.

In Kat's drunken mind, she couldn't really remember how she ended up on the living room floor with a permanent marker in her hand. All she could remember was the sweet leathery smell encasing her and large strong hands holding her back. You could even tell the intent in her drunken scrawl, even in the morning when she found it later, not realizing who actually wrote it in the first place.

_I heart Patrick._


	2. The Beach

**A/N: **This originally was just supposed to be a one-shot. But I got a lot of requests for stuff after the finale, and this just made sense. My last one may have seemed a little OOC, but I am trying. And since Kat was drunk, I was just making Patrick understanding for once. I think this shows more of his awesome side.

Summary: She didn't think that this would be as much of a sexual experience as he was making it. She could only imagine the smug look on his face that she was always very tempted to slap off. He would probably take that as encouragement anyway. He seemed to be intrigued by her stun gun.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The first quote belongs to 1OTIHAY that will come up later. Kat's quote after that is just that isn't in italics is just something that Patrick's reflecting on. And the italics after that, obviously, is a flashback. Everything belongs to 10TIHAY

* * *

_It doesn't matter, anyway. Bianca's all like... _stay out of my life_... _yell, yell, yell_. She won't even let me explain._

_...That's not nice._

_I didn't mean to hurt her feelings._

_She probably knows that, deep down... I bet she wishes she could make out with you right now._

_Really? How do you know?_

_I just know things. In my mind._

_-- Cameron and Kat_

"No, no, no. come over so I can tell you something... Because I need to do it in person... Because I just do, just do it."

_He wouldn't do it. He refused to do it. But just looking at that caller ID made him realize that he already had. He wasn't sorry. It wasn't even his fault. She was stubborn and completely dense-- and there he was picking up the phone._

_"Hello?"_

_Her very next breath told him everything he needed to know. She was completely smashed. And even though that was something he would like to see, he would not cave to her._

_And the next thing she said blew his mind._

_"What?" he asked incredulously._

_"I need to tell you something."_

_Not that._

_"So say it," he said. If her tones weren't so baffling, he wasn't really sure if this would be amusing to him if not in a different light. It wasn't like he was doing anything important. It wasn't like his bike wasn't just idling outside his house, beckoning him to return to the house he stormed out of._

_Stupid, symbolic motorcycle._

_"No, no, no," she said in frustration (and drunkenness.) "Come over so I can tell you something."_

_"Why can't you just tell me now?" he asked. He didn't like her like this. She could do something potentially dangerous like breaking out a karaoke machine and lamenting about some poorly veiled metaphor about what sort of maybe happened when he sort of maybe let the cops take him away after he was falsely accused of getting high (by the same guy who was offering everyone spiked watermelon when he left the party, by the way.)_

_"Because I need to do it in person."_

_"Why..." he asked. He needed a concrete reason if he was going to risk hurting himself for her again (not that he would ever admit to even himself that her refusal of his apology was anything less than a dent in his stoic stance.)_

_"Because I just do," she burst out, "just do it."_

_"You're drunk," he accused. Not like it was that difficult to figure. Even the guy stupid enough to eat the spiked watermelon without realizing it was spiked could see that._

_"I am not," she said in astonishment._

_"Then why are you begging me to come over to your house?" he asked smugly. He couldn't help himself. He liked that at least in her inebriated state, she wasn't such a cold hard bitch. She was so quiet, he was sure that she had hung up on him._

_"I..." she started. "I need help."_

_He knew that wasn't it, but he went over anyway. Even if it just meant holding her. At least she was barely clothed. That was a consolation_

Patrick blinked against the harsh light and the wind in his face. At least his helmet was being put to good use even if he wasn't the one who was wearing it. He took a sharp turn and felt her hands tighten instinctively around his waist. She put her chin on his shoulder, holding him close. He felt his own helmet against the side of his head.

He thought when he had finally skidded to stop that she would have let go. But her nails were digging into his torso as strong as ever. He tried extricating himself from her to no avail.

"You can let go, now."

Not that he necessarily wanted that to happen. Slowly but surely, her hands relaxed. She didn't let go, though.

"I know you wish you could touch me forever," he said, "but we're here."

That was when she shoved him away. He hid a smile. He looked at her curiously as she held onto the bike as though she were about to fall off. He eased up the shield that was covering her eyes and he smirked. He put his hands on the side of the helmet and took it off her head, smoothing down her hair without even thinking about it.

She was glaring at him.

"You'll get used to it," he said.

"Used to it?" she finally said breathlessly. "What makes you think I'm ever taking a ride on that death trap again?"

"Because you're obsessed with me," he deadpanned.

Kat rolled her eyes and as gracefully as she could, tried to slide off the bike. Suddenly, he didn't mind the uniforms as much. She shoved him slightly against his chest.

"You're gross."

He just smirked. She looked around.

"The beach," she said dryly. He shrugged with unrepentance. "Just what this skirt needs. Sand."

"I'll give you a piggyback ride," he smiled. He set his helmet down on the seat. She scowled at him. "And we were having such a nice time."

"Fine," she relented. "But only because you asked nicely."

"I didn't."

She didn't care.

She looped her arms around his neck as he hoisted her up, his hands holding the back of her thighs. She didn't think that this would be as much of a sexual experience as he was making it. She could only imagine the smug look on his face that she was always very tempted to slap off. He would probably take that as encouragement anyway. He seemed to be intrigued by her stun gun.

He trudged across the sand in his combat boots that he refused to take off for the regulation shoes that went with the uniform. The sand was clinging to his pants but he didn't seem to mind. It wasn't like he was going to wear them ever again.

"Okay." he stopped. "We're here."

"Here?" she asked. They were looking out at the ocean. He loosened his grip on her thighs. This caused her to tighten them around her waist. She didn't want to be let down. She didn't need to look at his face to definitely know he was taking the implication of her wrapping her legs around his waist to heart.

He put his hand to the loop around his neck she made with her arms. He turned his head a fraction of an inch so he could almost look her in the eye.

"You can let go now."

At this, she immediately slid from his shoulders so her shoes sunk into the sand. She glared at him as he turned to grin at her. She shoved him lightly again.

"You're such a jerk," she laughed lightly. He crouched to the ground, stretching out his leg. He looked up at her expectantly. He patted the sand next to him.

"I thought we were trying to avoid the sand factor," she pointed out.

"You can sit in my lap, if you want," he suggested. She sat immediately on the ground next to him. He smiled to himself. She would do anything, if only it was to spite him.

He leaned back, tucking his arms under his head, looking at the clear sky. The day was always brighter when you were suspended. He looked up at her. She was looking at him skeptically. He patted the ground next to him again. She rolled her eyes.

"No thanks."

"What?" he asked tauntingly. "You're afraid you'll get sand in your hair?"  
"No," she said defensively.

"I didn't know you were such a girl," he said, egging her on. Her mouth opened as if it was an insult. "Here, just lay on my arm."

"I'm fine," she sighed heavily, looking out at the water, ignoring the invitation that was his arm stretched out towards her.

"Just do it," he said, pulling her down next to him. She let him. She settled carefully as he tucked his arm under her long hair. That's when she realized it. They were doing sort of couple things and he wasn't pointing it out. He was so confusing sometimes. She was almost in the crook of his arm, where girlfriends put their heads to their boyfriend's chests. But she didn't do that. She didn't need a man to hold her. She was fine on her own.

But apparently she needed a man to shelter her from sand on her skirt and her hair. God, she really was turning into one of them. And all because of one rule breaking, leather wearing, bike riding troublemaking boy-man. She didn't know why she didn't mind so much. She was supposed to be against this sort of thing. Somehow, he just had this uncanny ability to make her feel comfortable. Especially on rooftops during brushfires and while drunk dialing.

During her silent musing she hadn't realized that Patrick had turned his face slowly so they weren't nearly far enough apart. Suddenly, she was too petrified to move. Even if she wished she could kiss him again, he represented everything spontaneous and unpredictable. That didn't make her feel safe at all. Even if his eyes were the safest place she could think of.

"You know," his deep voice rumbled. "I could kiss you again."

"Sure," she breathed. She wanted it to come out snide, but now it just sounded sort of breathless, like the thrill she got from wrapping her hands around his waist on his bike. Her father would kill her.

"Its only natural," he said easily. "You want to kiss me."

"You wish." She still wasn't sounding as scornful as she would like to sound.

He didn't answer. He was just staring. It made her uncomfortable.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"What?" Kat asked in confusion. He smiled slightly.

"On the phone."

_On the phone_.

Oh. When she was completely trashed.

"I don't remember."

Lie.

"Tell me."

"I don't know."

She couldn't. He was looking at her in that way that made her weak and she just couldn't. She didn't even know what he wanted from her. Last time they came this close, he didn't even want her. Not really. He didn't want... a relationship. But did she? Not those annoying ones where the guy carried the girl's books and were... needy and clingy. That's what he said. But she didn't exactly want to see him with anyone else, either. Especially not those blonde sluts she tended to see on the back of his bike.

Sluts.

"You called me to tell me something in person," he told her. "Instead, you hurled. What were you going to tell me?"

"Why does it matter?"

She was getting defensive again.

And he was getting angry. And annoyed. She could see the darkness brewing in his delicious eyes.

"Because I told _you_."

And that was the truth. And that wasn't fair. He was such a jerk. She hated him.

"I wanted to tell you I was sorry," she said instead. Even if she still hated him. Even if she definitely did not hate that smirk he was giving her. Stupid boy.

And then he was coming closer. She didn't know what to do. Usually when it came to them, after sweet (perish the thought) moments like these, something disastrous happened. He said he didn't want a relationship or he would be getting arrested when she really thought that he was just ditching her because she stupidly let her care about him again.

And then he stopped.

"What's that?"

She followed his gaze to her arm where the sleeve of her white uniform had started to bunch. Where you could still sort of see--

"Nothing," she said quickly, sitting up, pulling her sleeve down. He looked at her suspiciously, slowly sitting up as well. Kat smoothed down her clothing, purposely avoiding his gaze. "I should really be getting home."

She stood to her feet, not really giving him a choice. Again, he slowly followed her movements, just questioning her with his eyes. She always caved to those seductive eyes. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt... that was covered in sand.

"My dad's going to be really worried so..."

She picked off imaginary lint off her skirt.

"Kat."

She looked up questioningly. Before she could stop him, he leaned in and captured her mouth with his. She made a noise of surprise that, judging by the rumble of amusement she felt beneath her hands in his chest, he took as a moan.

He pulled away satisfaction etched in his beautiful features. He turned his back to her. She looked at him in confusion.

"Come on," he said, motioning with his head.

"Oh," she said in realization. She put her arms around his neck again. This time, she wasn't so apprehensive of her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. She liked the way his touch burned through her gray knee socks.

He deposited her lightly to the ground once they had reached his bike. He still had that strange smile on his face that she had never seen before. She had never seen him give anyone before. Except her.

She pulled the helmet over her head again. She watched his eyes covertly flick to her arm again. But he just sat astride his bike. She hated how she liked him like that. This wasn't safe. Neither was he. He gave the allusion that he was. That was the most dangerous. But maybe it wasn't an allusion at all.

She brought her arms tentatively around his waist again as she leaned instinctively against his back. He moved up slightly on the seat.

"You can hold me closer, you know," he said mockingly. Not being able to speak she prodded him in annoyance. But she did it anyway. Because he wanted her to.

It was dark when he rode back into her driveway. Bianca's light was on. Then again, so was the kitchen. She knew it was only a matter of time before her father burst out in a fury of what she did. She got herself suspended. She got herself suspended when her father told her not to. She got herself suspended when her father told her not to for a _guy_. She was in so much trouble. And she didn't seem to care.

He dismounted. He took the helmet again and pulled it slowly off her head. He tucked he dark lock behind her ear and leaned in. He didn't pull away this time. She brought her hand up to the side of his face. She felt his hand descend down her arm--

She pulled away. He was smirking down at her forearm. She wrenched away.

"Permanent marker is very hard to get off," she said defensively.

"I can see that."

Kat stared at him.

"You did it, didn't you?" she accused.

"What?" he asked.

"You wrote on my arm."

"I wrote on your arm that you love me?" he asked smartly. "I'm surprised. I at least would have thought you would have recognized your own handwriting."

"What?" she exclaimed. "I did not write this."

"You didn't even remember what you said to me at your party," he pointed out.

"That doesn't mean..."

"Katerina."

Kat would know that angry voice from anywhere.

"Is that a _motorcycle_?"

"I guess I should be going," Patrick said, looking away from her father's angry glare.

"I guess so," she replied.

In the background, she could hear her father lecturing her on the dangers of motorized vehicles and how irresponsible it was that she drove off school property with a man-boy with an alarmingly deep voice for a seventeen year old.

Patrick just smirked and started his bike again.

"You shouldn't look so worried," he advised. "You'll see me again."

Kat rolled her eyes.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well we did get suspended together."

Kat scoffed and turned away. Even if she liked the way he said together.

"And its okay," he said. "I heart you too."

"You really should be wearing a helmet," she snapped. She heard his deep throated laughter. She turned in the threshold, barely listening to her father about the company kept. She just looked at the faded ink on her arm that was probably the most truthful thing she said to him.

_I heart Patrick._


End file.
